The Doctor makes house calls
by Julie Verne
Summary: Set after season 3, episode 17. Root's wound needs a little attention.


"I think it's infected. Can you take a look?" Root asked a few days after Shaw had inspected her wounds. What could she say, she loved when Shaw played doctor.  
Shaw immediately pulled Root's shirt away from her chest, saw the bandage, saw the fresh blood on it.  
"I changed it this morning. There was pus." Root said by way of explanation. "Seemed serious enough to ask you to look at it."  
Shaw looked around, saw Reese and Finch watching, tense, waiting for a fight, waiting for a showdown between the two women.  
Shaw rolled her eyes. "Not here," she said, knowing she'd need to get Root's shirt off to take care of the wound.  
"Wanna come back to my place?" Root asked suggestively.  
Shaw rolled her eyes again, harder.  
"Not really, but come on." 

They stopped off at a convenience store, where Shaw bought a first aid kit and some betadine. 

"Nice place," said Shaw when Root let her into the apartment. "Meanwhile I'm sleeping on the floor in a hovel." Root shrugged.

"Been here a week, and I'll be somewhere else next week. This one's nicer than the last." Shaw looked around, couldn't see anything personal. Just a generic apartment where anyone might live. She shook her head, put the kit down on the table.

"Shirt. Off."  
Root's breath caught, and she met Shaw's eyes as she unbuttoned her shirt. Pulled it open, shrugged it off. Shaw eyed the bandage, kept unpacking the kit. "Take that off, too." Root reached behind herself for her bra clasp.  
"No, the bandage," Shaw said, rolling her eyes again.  
Root pulled the bandage off with a wince. Shaw examined the wound, pulled at the edges.  
"Not infected, but not healing well." She cleaned the wound carefully.  
"Aren't you going to blow on it?" Root asked as Shaw dabbed betadine on the wound.  
"Introduce bacteria into an open wound? No thanks." Shaw scoffed.  
"Well, you could kiss it better?" Root said, tilting Shaw's face up from where it was looking at the wound under her collarbone. Shaw met Root's eyes for a moment, then tugged her chin out of Root's grasp.  
"Root. Cut it out." Shaw turned her attention back to the wound. "I could put a stitch in it. It's stretched."  
"Do what you have to."  
"No lidocaine."  
"I don't mind if you don't," Root said breathily. Shaw looked up, and Root raised an eyebrow. Grabbed a needle, thread. Carefully she pulled the edges of the wound together.  
Shaw used to be a doctor, but as she stitched Root's wound, she suddenly knew why her mentor had kicked her out. This had been what had been missing. Root carefully wiped the wound again, gently stitched her up. Technique perfect, fingers shaking. She cared about what happened to Root. The realisation was like a punch to her gut.  
"Cut that in three days, pull it out. Call me if you can't get it out." Shaw said abruptly, shaking her hands before dropping the needle on the table. Waited for the tremble to stop.  
Shaw pulled out a fresh bandage, then hesitated.  
"Better let it air. Cover it up before you go out tomorrow, so it doesn't rub on your shirt. Keep it open when you're at home."  
Shaw pulled back, pleased with her handiwork. Then her gaze slipped down and she turned away. "Wear something loose until you cover it."  
"What's wrong with this?" Root asked, looking down at her torso.  
"Nothing. But if you're not putting a shirt on, I'm going home."  
"I can at least make you dinner while you're here," Root suggested. "You know, return the favour. Least I can do after you took such good care of me."  
Shaw looked around. It was a nice place, and it would be nice to get a home cooked dinner. And Root wasn't the worst company she'd kept. Knew how to kick ass. And while Shaw was used to spending a lot of time alone, somehow the idea of going home alone tonight wasn't as appealing as it should be.  
"Sure," she shrugged. "Nowhere else to be," she said added, offhand, like she wasn't particularly interested. "But put a shirt on first."  
Root pouted, but slipped her shirt back on, left the top buttons undone so the shirt kept off the stitches. Shaw averted her eyes again, already missing that elongated torso and purple lace she'd been welcome to look over. Missing the soft skin her fingers had made note of.  
"What do you feel like? I make a mean lasagna." Shaw shrugged, threw herself down on the couch. It was as comfortable as it looked.  
"Whatever you were planning to have, I guess. You got the game?"  
"I can have. Which channel?"  
Shaw rattled off the channel, and Root cocked her head to the side, picked up the remote and tapped out a code.  
"There you go," she said casually, like she hadn't just used a supercomputer to get Shaw free access to a football game. Shaw watched Root in disbelief as Root's own audacity escaped her until she disappeared into the kitchen, then shook her head and turned to the game. She could hear Root pottering around in the kitchen, wondered if she needed to offer to help.

Root came over a little later with a glass of wine.  
"I'm afraid I'm not well versed on the origins of this one, but it was here when I moved in."

"Do you need help with anything?" Shaw asked vaguely, not sure what help she would be, not sure why she was offering to share a smaller space with a woman who didn't respect personal boundaries.  
"No, just enjoy the game," Root slipped at her own glass of wine, walked away, looking back over her shoulder at Shaw. It was nice to have company for once, let her guard down with someone who knew her. Nice to have someone to take care of, someone who took care of her too.

Dinner was done, the game was over. Root was sitting awfully close to Shaw on the couch, and the bottle of wine was long gone. Shaw knew she should leave but wasn't sure how. Wasn't sure she wanted to leave. Was still thinking about that lace, the pale skin beneath it. Root had hinted that she was more than welcome to it, but Shaw knew some sort of commitment would be expected since they worked together now, or whatever they did. They were part of a team, and Shaw would have to deal with those big cow-eyes staring at her in longing when they were on a mission together.  
Shaw stood up.  
"Well. Goodnight," Shaw said, awkwardly. Root stood up, faced her.  
"No goodnight kiss?" Root pouted. Shaw stepped forward, grasped Root's upper arms.  
Forcefully she kissed the taller woman, and when Root opened her eyes, Shaw was gone.


End file.
